


Who the Hell You Think You Are?

by spuffyduds



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: 1000-5000 Words, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-25
Updated: 2010-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Underage sex, bondage, muddled consent issues.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Who the Hell You Think You Are?

**Author's Note:**

> Underage sex, bondage, muddled consent issues.

The first time Joe touches him like that--yeah, okay, the first time _anybody_ touches him like that--it's a total fucking surprise. They're in Billy's room, door closed, and Billy's mom is yelling at his dad downstairs. Billy's used to it; she gets this weird rhythm going--"I don't know WHY I married you, I don't know WHY I stay"--like that. It's kinda hypnotic; sometimes he finds himself humming tunes to it. But anyway it's embarrassing when somebody else is here, and this is Joe's first time over and Billy'd like him to come back, so Billy starts talking loudly about something, anything, the first thing that comes to mind, which is their English teacher and her really impressive tits.

"No _shit_," Joe says, and they start talking about what they'd do if they got a chance. "Like that's ever happening," Joe finally says, and Billy blinks, impressed, because he'd figured Joe would be a little bit of a blowhard about sex, like he is about his record collection and the band he's putting together someday and pretty much everything else. Mostly in a funny way, so it's not too annoying, but Billy wasn't expecting a streak of--sort of _humble_ like that. He grins and says, "Yeah," and then Joe says, "She's inspired some fucking _champion_ jack-offs, though, I'm telling you."

Billy laughs, quick and nervous because he's never talked with anybody about that, and he hates how high-pitched the laugh comes out. "Champion like--what, really _fast_?" he says.

"No, you dink, _distance_," Joe says, and the next thing Billy knows they've somehow both got their pants unzipped and their cocks out and Joe's talking about Mrs. Verbinski, talking on and on about her dresses and her legs and the way her ass bounces when she writes on the chalkboard, and Billy's stroking himself hard and fast and trying not to look at Joe doing the same thing, and this is so great, this is so much better than doing it by himself, just--Joe's voice saying those things, it's just--

And then Joe's suddenly right behind him, saying, "Jesus, like _that_? You trying to pull it _off_?" and there's a hand on Billy's waist and god, _god_, a hand on his _dick_, shoving Billy's own hand out of the way, and then Joe is jacking him, but way more gently than Billy was, slow and perfect and tight and _somebody else's hand not Billy's, Joe's_ and Billy comes all over the place.

"See?" Joe says. "You get her in your head and you don't try to strangle your dick, you get a serious _arc_ going. _Technique_, buddy."

He steps away from Billy and finishes himself off and Billy's too stunned to look away, he just watches, because Joe is acting like that was just totally normal, like guys just _do_ that, and fuck, maybe they do. Billy sure isn't going to say anything to tip Joe off that he doesn't _know_.

Joe zips himself up and looks over at Billy, grins, says, "You gonna hang out all day, there?" And fuck, Billy never zipped up, he was standing there staring at Joe with his fly open, and he's a little bit hard again, what the hell? Joe opens his mouth and Billy thinks _don't ask don't ask_ and thank god Joe just says, "The carpet's a mess, you got any paper towels?"

****************************************

The next time Joe comes over Billy's wondering if that's going to happen again, and wondering if he wants it to. But Joe spends the whole time talking about his imaginary future band, and after a while Billy starts to get irritated that Joe just never shuts _up_, and he interrupts with "I'm buying a guitar," which had actually never occurred to him before he said it. "Great," Joe says, and gives Billy a smile he hasn't seen before--it looks way less like he's about to bite you than most of his smiles. "You're my guitarist, then."

"Fuck, I don't even know how to play yet!"

"I'll wait," Joe says, and grins at him some more, and Billy grabs all his money out of his sock drawer. Every cent, all the Christmas and birthday money from his grandmother and what's left of the cash he got washing dishes at a crappy Mexican restaurant over the summer, and they go out to buy a guitar.

The first few weeks it hurts his fingertips like hell, and Billy can't figure out how something that hurts that bad can feel so right and so _necessary_ all at the same time. Because the second he picked up the guitar in the store, awkwardly and carefully, his whole body just went "yeah."

After a while he's got calluses, and he keeps rubbing his now-numb fingertips together, staring at them in class when he's supposed to be paying attention. It's so freaky. He kind of gets those guys who bulk up in the gym now, because his body has been--making all these changes without his permission, his body has been just _happening_ to him, and now he's changed it on purpose so it could do something he wanted, changed his hands into guitarist's hands.

Other things change too; they eventually get a couple gigs at the rec center, him and Joe and a couple of Joe's cousins on bass and drums. They pretty much suck, but they'll get better, and suddenly there are _girls_, girls who want to talk to him and Joe after the show, girls who giggle and hug. This is just fine with Billy, and from what he can tell it's just fine with Joe too. So that thing that happened was just--one of those things that happen, before you get a girl. Okay then.

***************************************

They're only three weeks into the first tour as Hard Core Logo when Billy's girlfriend breaks up with him. Eight months they've been going out and she breaks up with him over the fucking phone.

"Hey, what was that about?" Joe says when Billy slams down the phone, and Billy doesn't answer him, stalks out of the cheap-ass motel room and finds the nearest bar, gets completely plowed. Usually that's more Joe's hobby.

Joe finds him eventually. Billy has his face down on the bar, in a puddle of spilled beer, and he's crying.

"Jesus Christ, you're a mess," Joe says, and throws some money on the bar. He gets an arm under Billy's arms and a hand on his belt and drags him back to the motel, the toes of Billy's shoes scutching across the sandy asphalt of the parking lot. He scrubs Billy's face with a wet washcloth, takes Billy's shoes off and drops him onto one of the beds.

"Fuck," Billy says. He can't seem to stop crying, even though he feels really stupid about it. "Fuck. You so good to me, Joe. Not like that bitch, _fuck_."

"Yeah, yeah, man up and shut up," Joe says.

"But. But I _need_ her."

"What the fuck for?" Joe says. And Billy remembers through the beer fog that Joe never liked Sharon, was always kind of an asshole to her. He wants to tell Joe everything that was wonderful about her, the way she smelled and the way she smiled, the way she always looked at Billy like he was gonna do something amazing any second, but Joe would make fun of him and Billy can't take that right now.

"She gave great blow jobs," he says.

"Bullshit."

"No, she did," Billy says mournfully. At least he's managed to stop crying. "With the lips. 'N the tongue and...yeah."

"You wouldn't know a great blow job if it bit you on the ass."

"Doesn' even make _sense_," Billy says, and wonders if it would if he were sober.

Then he switches over to wondering what the hell Joe is doing, because Joe has climbed onto the bed with him and is pulling his pants down.

"Can sleep in my clothes, s'okay," he says, but Joe isn't trying to take his shirt off next, Joe is leaning down, and, oh, taking Billy's cock in his mouth.

"What," Billy says, "whafuck, what--" but then he shuts up because, Jesus, this is good. Lips and tongue, and Joe's sucking gently, taking Billy's whole soft cock in his mouth, and he gets his fingers up around Billy's balls, cups them nice and softly while he's sucking, and Billy goes hard in his mouth. Joe makes this pleased little noise and Billy twists his fingers in the sheets and rocks his hips up against Joe and whimpers. Now that he's into it Joe sucks harder, goes way down on him, and swirls his tongue around and it's so good, it's so good, Billy suddenly feels double-drunk, like the bed is swirling and the room is swirling and fuck, fuck, Joe is swirling his tongue around Billy's cock, how did that, how is this happening?

He lets go of the sheets, flails his hands around some, finally grabs Joe's shoulders and just hangs on, Joe's shoulders are the only thing making any sense now, solid and warm and Billy hangs on while he moans and thrashes and comes.

Joe sits back up, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He leans down toward Billy's face and Billy just--automatically, it's just a reflex--turns his head to kiss him. But Joe pulls away a little and says in Billy's ear, "_That_ was a great blow job."

"Yeah," Billy says. He can't think of anything else to say, but Joe doesn't seem to need him to; he takes the rest of Billy's clothes off and pulls the sheet up over him, climbs into the other bed and starts snoring almost right away.

*********************************************************

They do--lots of stuff, after that. It doesn't make sense, really, to have a girlfriend when you're out on tour all the time anyway. Serious girlfriends are for later, for when they have a big contract and can stay put recording for a few months at a time. Right now there are all these girls after the shows, girls who are there for fun and make no demands. But some nights they're stopping over in the middle of a long drive between shows. And some nights there's just isn't anybody at the show who really looks good to either of them, and they glance at each other at the end of the encore and Billy knows they're going straight back to the room, let Pipe and John do whatever to whoever in the dressing rooms.

And, sure, some nights, a lot of nights there's plenty of opportunity, but Billy doesn't always feel like dealing with, talking to, fucking a stranger. Some nights it's just easier to go back to the room with Joe. Less work after a long hot show. It's not like they're--they don't kiss or anything.

Joe always has lube and they trade off a lot of hand jobs. And one time Billy buys some leather cuffs at a shop in Vancouver, because last time they played there he got jumped after the show by this chick who was into scratching and biting, and _talked_ a good bondage game. But he never got to try that with her--he couldn't find a belt and she rolled her eyes at him when he hopefully held up a pair of tube socks.

She's not at the show this time, though, and he's got this vivid picture in his head of the cuffs on somebody, and dammit, now he really _wants_ that, and if he tries it on some random groupie she might run screaming.

He locks eyes with Joe as he plays his last note, and they head back to the room together. And now Billy's so worked up thinking about those fucking cuffs he pushes like he doesn't usually. Usually he just sort of rolls with whatever happens, but now he's shoving Joe up against a wall and yanking his clothes off, biting at his chest, pushing him down on the bed. And it's weird, most of the time Joe keeps up a running commentary, "Yeah, that's right, you like that, you want my mouth now, fucker?" but now he goes all quiet, lets Billy shove him around and doesn't say a fucking word. Watches him, silent.

Billy grabs the cuffs out of his luggage and holds them up, like a dare, like "You gonna pussy out?" and Joe doesn't say anything, just keeps looking at him, so Billy cuffs his wrists to the bedframe and then gets out the lube and starts jacking him. Slowly because Joe wants it fast, always tells him to go fast. Billy leans over and bites at his nipples a little and Joe's moaning, writhing on the bed under him and it's good but Billy wants different, wants _more_ tonight and he slides his slick fingers back, pushes at Joe's asshole, they've never done that and Joe's eyes go wide but he doesn't talk, just keeps gasping and moaning so Billy slides a finger in. It's really hot in there, muscles shivering and clenching around him, and he keeps stroking. He curls down and fits his mouth around the head of Joe's cock, where he didn't get any of the lube so it won't taste awful, and sucks just softly to make Joe crazy, and pets up inside of him, carefully because he's got no fucking idea what he's doing, and Joe yells out something wordless and comes in his mouth.

Billy slides his finger out, sits back on his haunches and looks at Joe and Joe looks fucking _wrecked_, flushed and sweaty and dazed. Jesus.

Billy shoves Joe's legs up and stretches out on him, and probably he should stop and think this through but fuck, the way Joe looked, with his wrists up above his head and eyes half closed and his mouth open, gasping for air, _fuck_.

Billy lubes up and pushes into him, really slowly, and he keeps his eyes closed because he can't look at Joe's face right now but he listens, he listens hard, and Joe doesn't say "get the fuck off me," doesn't say "what the hell you think you're doing," doesn't say anything at all. Just keeps gasping harsh in Billy's ear.

Billy was so worked up, thinking about that kinky groupie, and this is--Joe's really tight, and hot around him and under him and making these fucking _noises_ that could be good and could be pain but aren't _stop_, anyway, and they're just, Joe's voice doing that is winding Billy up tighter and tighter, and he doesn't last long.

He pulls out, slowly but Joe still hitches a breath under him. Billy reaches up and unbuckles him from the bedframe, takes the cuffs off his wrists, way more slowly than he needs to because he can't think of anything to say, what the hell do you say?

"You okay?" he says, finally, and Joe suddenly grabs his shoulders and slams him down on his back, starts buckling the cuffs on Billy, so yeah, he's okay.

After that they go back to the room together a lot more often than they pair up with groupies, after the shows. Already knowing what somebody likes, what somebody can be talked into--it's just easier.

***************************************************

Billy can't fucking believe it when they finally get a chance to play in front of some big-time record execs. Joe's driving to the gig and Billy spends the whole time in the passenger seat talking about what it's gonna be like, finally having a little money. Staying put for a while to record, getting his own little apartment so he's not spending his whole fucking life in half a shitty motel room. Getting a steady girlfriend, hell, maybe _two_.

"Yeah, it'll be fucking fantastic," Joe says, and keeps his eyes on the road.

*****************************************************

Billy stumbles into the motel room seriously drunk that night, hoping Joe's asleep already because he doesn't want to talk to the bastard, doesn't want to talk to him ever again. They had a chance, they had a fucking chance and Joe had to be some sort of Punk God of Assholes and ruin it, throw it away, fucking fine if _he_ wants to spend his life in Motel Sixes eating ramen noodles but how could he just decide for the rest of them like that, not even ask?

But of course Joe's awake. The room's dark but he says "Billy," the second Billy closes the door. Billy points at him, no fucking use in the dark but he can't help it, says "Don't you even talk to me, you cunt, what the fuck is _wrong_ with you--" but then Joe's up against him pinning him against the door.

"Oh _fuck_ no," Billy says, he can't even believe that Joe thought they were doing anything tonight, thought Billy was gonna touch him tonight or ever, any other time until the end of the world. If Joe tries to get his clothes off, tries to get a hand on his dick, Billy's gonna break his nose.

Joe doesn't do that. Joe kisses him, on the mouth, over and over and over, and Billy is confused and panicked and getting hard and opens his mouth. Joe tastes smoky and salty, licking into him, and he kisses Billy forever, pushed up against the door with his hands under Billy's shirt and their hips rocking together, and when Joe finally pulls away it's just to put his mouth to Billy's ear, to whisper "Don't, don't, don't leave."

Billy lets himself be led to the bed, lets Joe do whatever he wants in the dark, and Billy can't see his face but the whole time Joe's talking, saying all this crazy shit that Billy can't believe is coming out of his mouth. Billy's hard in Joe's hand, and he shakes and moans when Joe pushes into him, later, but all the hard and hot is on the outside, inside he's freezing, frightened, fear crackling through him like frost because this isn't Joe, this isn't them, this is not what they are.

Joe finally finishes, stops talking, falls asleep with an arm and a leg slung over Billy.

Billy has to wait a long time for him to be asleep deep enough for Billy to slide out from under him. He dresses quietly in the dark and grabs his duffle bag, but he can't figure out where his shoes ended up, and he's not turning on a light, Christ no, so he ends up walking barefoot to the bus station.

 

\--END--


End file.
